𝐶𝐿𝑂𝐴𝐾 𝐴𝑁𝐷 𝐷𝐴𝐺𝐺𝐸𝑅 | 𝐃𝐈𝐄𝐆𝐎 𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐆𝐑𝐄𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐒 [DISCONTINUED]

𝟐𝟖 | 𝐀𝐍 𝐈𝐍𝐕𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓

"𝑊ℎ𝑎𝑡'𝑠 𝑚𝑒𝑎𝑛𝑡 𝑡𝑜 𝑏𝑒 𝑤𝑖𝑙𝑙 𝑎𝑙𝑤𝑎𝑦𝑠 𝑓𝑖𝑛𝑑 𝑎 𝑤𝑎𝑦."
—𝑇𝑟𝑖𝑠ℎ𝑎 𝑌𝑒𝑎𝑟𝑤𝑜𝑜𝑑

𝒟.

𝐀 𝐒𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐄 𝐒𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃 onto Diego's face as soon as he woke up. There, cradled in his arms and fast asleep (and, not to mention, naked), was his fiancée.

The woman he was going to marry. Who was going to be his wife. The promise was sealed on her fourth finger for anyone to see, and the signature glittered in the sunlight that was streaming through the window.

He gazed down at the hand that was laid on his chest. At the ring that rested comfortably on the fourth finger. And he could feel nothing but happiness.

His eyes shifted to Natalia's face as her eyes fluttered open, and his smile widened.

"Good morning, fiancée," he murmured to her, eliciting a sleepy giggle.

"Good morning, fiancé."

Diego turned his body to face hers and planted a kiss on her lips. She didn't, however, let him draw back too far as she cupped his cheeks and pressed her lips against his, and pleasure rose through him as he felt the cool metal of the ring against his cheek.

"I love you so much, angel," he mumbled as she pulled away. "I can't wait to marry you."

Natalia gave a soft giggle. "I can hardly wait either."

He pulled the cover further up over them before letting his hand trail down her bare body until it reached her hip. He squeezed it, eliciting another sleepy giggle as Natalia leaned forward and rested her head on his chest.

"Tired?" he teased.

"Always."

"I'm sure last night didn't help," he continued playfully, squeezing her hip once again. "It was, what, two in the morning when we went to bed? Three?"

"Shut up," she laughed, hitting him in the chest and prompting a chuckle in reply. She then gazed at her ring and smiled. "I really do love this ring, though. It's beautiful."

He gave a modest shrug. "Can I confess something to you right now?"

She moved her eyes up to him and raised her eyebrows. "Sure."

"I had some help," he admitted. "From Nigel—well, he was no help. But from Patch."

"Help?" she repeated with furrowed eyebrows. "Help with what?"

"As you know, I'm . . . not exactly the richest man in the world," he said sheepishly. "So, I got help."

*
𝑂𝑛𝑒 𝑤𝑒𝑒𝑘 𝑎𝑔𝑜.

Diego needed help.

Not some light, easy help, like moving some furniture, or borrowing a cup of sugar to bake a cake. No, this was some debt-owing, begging on your knees, I will do anything kind of help.

Monetary help. The worst kind of help.

Damn. He hated admitting that. Usually, he liked to keep to himself. Work by himself. Get things done by himself. He never needed help. And even if he did need help, he'd just ignore the fact and work around the problem himself.

There were only three times in the past when he'd ever really admitted that he needed help.

1. With school work. Because who the fuck cared if they knew he needed help with that? It was school. And he was just asking his siblings or Natalia or his mother anyway.